BLINK
King’s Head Theatre
★★★
“an intriguing, confronting piece made for our times”
What does it mean to be seen? In an age of polished online personas, we’re more visible – and invisible – than ever. In its first major London revival since 2012, Simon Paris delivers a sharply human take on online stalking in Phil Porter’s ‘Blink’ – though it could do with a little more bite.
Sophie’s dad dies, leaving her lost and alone; hundreds of miles away, Jonah loses his mother. Several strange coincidences later, they’re living in the same building. Sophie spots Jonah nursing a sick fox and sends him an anonymous gift – a baby monitor livestreaming her living room. Whether what follows is love, co-dependency or stalking, you decide – but you won’t be able to look away.
Porter’s unflinching play premiered in 2012 – before social media was the beast it is now – yet it nails the murky ethics of parasocial attachment, boundary erosion and consent. The script is richly layered, cleverly weaving contrasting takes on the same events, and balancing full circle moments with enough ambiguity to keep you guessing. It’s both creepy and endearing, conjuring sinister imagery as you root for not one but two antiheroes. It’s also very funny, with a bracingly unfiltered edge. Though the masterstroke is our complicity – as their gaze becomes ours, how much responsibility do we shoulder?
Paris’ direction deftly humanises an increasingly familiar – though no less troubling – dynamic. Tiny shifts in body language betray the characters’ true feelings. The breezy detachment around death and depression heightens the core tension between perception and reality. The parasocial bond builds and unravels in several ways – most strikingly the furniture solidifies as the connection deepens. That said, the pacing could be tighter in places – the opening and closing hesitancy works well, but elsewhere the cast pulls back when they need momentum. That breezy detachment, while thematically apt, sometimes leaves moments feeling a touch out of reach. Paris keeps the baby monitor, though would a smartphone ring more true? Still, it’s a commanding take on a demanding script.
Casting social media star Abigail Thorn as Sophie is a stroke of genius, throwing the issues straight into the spotlight. Thorn nails the tortured but inarticulate soul, keeping her true feelings under wraps until they can’t help but break through. That said, some moments feel a touch too restrained, and the pacing could be sharper in places. Joe Pitts’ Jonah is disarmingly creepy. Pitts fully commits to the off beat wildcard, burning with unhinged devotion for Sophie balanced against quieter sincerity. Pitts’ comedic timing is also razor sharp.
Emily Bestow’s design is stunning. The translucent furniture gaining and losing solidity is a clever visual metaphor. The black mirror floor creates the illusion of watching on a smartphone. Matt Powell’s video design sharpens the illicit feel with degraded video textures. Sophie’s fragmented body – zooming in on her eyes, hands, lips – is strikingly voyeuristic. Pre recorded inserts smartly reveal the other character’s perspective, even if the timing occasionally slips. Peter Small’s lighting draws the audience in from the start, with soft house lights keeping us in Jonah’s orbit before shifting to more theatrical settings, creating striking shifts between intimacy and distance. Sam Glossop’s soundscape layers music and subtle tones, with abrupt jolts snapping you back to reality. Costumes are pared back but Sophie’s deliberate return to the off shoulder look suggests her ‘casual’ vibe is anything but accidental.
Paris’ take on ‘Blink’ has flashes of real brilliance, even if it could use a little more punch. Still, it’s an intriguing, confronting piece made for our times that’s well worth catching.
BLINK
King’s Head Theatre
Reviewed on 23rd February 2026
by Hannah Bothelton
Photography by Charlie Flint
